


Rubber Ducky, You’re the One!

by Creed Cascade (creedcascade)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creedcascade/pseuds/Creed%20Cascade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen and Cougar share some down time at his sister’s place. A slice-of-life story showcasing a strange domesticity, with glimpses of Jensen’s disturbing past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubber Ducky, You’re the One!

**Author's Note:**

> Discussions of past child abuse. I haven’t been able to find if Jensen’s sister and niece have a canon name, so I made something up. I also made up Jensen and Cougar’s family history. The randomness and disjointedness was intentional.

Jensen whistled the tune of ‘Rubber Ducky’ followed by crooning the lyrics at Cougar, complete with a pretend microphone.

“Rubber ducky, you're the one! You make bath time lots of fun! Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of you! Woo woo be doo…” He pointed at Cougar and slipped his sunglasses down his nose to wink at him recalling the fun they’d shared in the bathtub last night. “Hey, did you know the origins of the rubber duck date back to the late 1880s?”

Cougar leaned back in his lawn chair and it creaked dangerously even under his lean frame. It was one of those old kinds of lawn chairs with vivid coloured stripes of vinyl stretched out over an aluminium frame. It was probably older than Jensen. His feet were propped up on a tipped over wheelbarrow, acting as a makeshift ottoman. Even though it was scorching, he was still wearing his worn jeans, and the only concession he made was to roll up the sleeves of his guayabera. Jensen had long ago disposed of his flip-flops in favour of running around barefoot. He’d also discarded his florescent orange shirt that read, ‘There are only 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary, and those who don't,’ and the only thing he was wearing now was a pair of bright aqua board shorts with a loud Polynesian motif.

Jensen’s niece was cooling off by dashing and cart-wheeling through the sprinkler. She had angled it to hit Jensen every time it oscillated back towards the deck, but he didn’t mind. He’d been running with her for over an hour, but told her he needed a break and warned her not to splash Cougar’s hat. She was far enough away hiding in the bushes so she couldn’t overhear what Jensen was rambling on about.

The shrubbery rustled, followed by an oomph and squeaked, “I’m okay! Wait… you didn’t hear that!”

“We never heard a thing, Pita!” Jensen bellows towards the bushes. As far as nicknames went, it was a strange one, but Cougar couldn’t expect anything less from Jensen. It had been given to the girl when she was a colicky infant and it stuck. P.I.T.A. stood for ‘Pain in the ass’. Jensen vaguely told her the nickname had something to do with pita bread when she asked, then quickly changed the subject. Cougar simply called her Mieja. He supposed anything was better than being called by her real name… Tallulah.

Jensen’s head lolled back, cheeks reddening in the afternoon sun. “Isn’t that cute? Baby recon. So, ye old rubber duckies didn’t squeak back then because they were made of hard rubber. Nowadays, there’re all these rubber duck races for charity. I saw one once in London. It was pretty awesome. I’ve always wondered why rubber duckies are used as a hidden easter egg on several hitman games.” Jensen tapped his barefoot against Cougar’s worn cowboy boot. “You have any insight, Cougs?” Jensen didn’t stop talking long enough for Cougar to answer, not that he would have anyways. “Is there some sort of inherent hatred of rubber duckies by men who carry big guns and like to peep through scopes?”

Cougar had used just about everything as target practise, but rubber duckies hadn’t been one of them. Just to shut Jensen up, he was already planning on smuggling a rubber ducky into his pack. He knew Pooch would love to be a co-conspirator and would happily plant it in the bathroom of whatever sleazy no-tell motel they stayed in the next time they were out saving the world. Cougar imagined that if he lay in wait at some vantage point where he could see the bathroom, then taking out the rubber ducky when Jensen went to use the head would make Jensen batshit crazy. He liked it when Jensen smiled that oh-my-God-I-can’t-believe-you-did-that smile and making impossible shots made him do that. It was one of the reasons they worked and it didn’t hurt it was a turn on for both of them.

“I took Jodi to a carnival when we were kids. They had this game where she had to pick a ducky up from this pool and if it had the right number on its ass, then she won a prize. Damn carnies even rigged that game. I had to have a nice lil’ talk with the jerk to get her the pink unicorn she wanted.” Jensen chuckled fondly and scratched the back of his neck. “Damn thing was bigger than her.”

Cougar tapped the tip of his boot against Jensen’s foot.

Jensen beamed and laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I loved it, too. But, seriously, it was because she loved it and I loved that she loved it. I don’t love pink, fluffy unicorns…”

Cougar snorted under his breath.

“Oh, hey, don’t go there. I was in character, dude. Plus, you promised you wouldn’t ever bring that up! Ever!” The silence from Cougar stretched for several seconds and it was as if Cougar actually said something out loud. It really was true that actions spoke louder than words when it came to the sniper. “Not fair. I was thinkin’ I could get a hat. A hat for Jensen-Jensen, not in-character-Jensen.”

Cougar tipped the brim of his hat just enough to raise a curious eyebrow.

“Not your hat. I’m not suicidal. Besides, I like your hat exactly where it is - on your head. But, I was thinkin’ maybe something old school. Like, maybe a fedora?”

Cougar titled his head to the side. Jensen was always wearing weird things and if it made him happy, then who was Cougar to comment? Though a fedora was particularly weird, even for Jensen.

“What? I could pull off a fedora.” Jensen rubbed his thumb and finger over his goatee. “I got style, you know I do. I’m a chameleon. It’s in my blood. Confidence man. There was this guy named William Thompson who used to talk people into giving him their watches and just walk off… he’s like one of the first people in America to proudly wear the label of confidence man. I’m like him. I learned to pick pockets when I was five. It was all very Oliver Twist without the gruel. Career criminal. Habitual offender. Call it whatever you want, but it was what my folks did. The Bitch had style and looks even if she was a cold, conniving waste of space. She trained me cry on command and, hell, I still don’t know what name I was born with.”

Cougar rubbed his thumb over Jensen’s pulse point.

“I know. I picked Jake Jensen and I’m cool with it. Nobody knows I got it from a design guru from way back. I fell in love with his design ascetic when I was in Copenhagen. Next time we’re in that neck of the woods, I want to take you to the Museum of Modern Art. So, if not a fedora, maybe a panama? I already rock out the baseball cap, but that’s so humdrum, middle-of-the-road America. I know, you’re thinking who wears a panama these days, but I could so bring it back. It’s not like I’m going to wear a deerstalker hat and strut around going, ‘Hey, look at me. I’m a Sherlock Holmes wannabe’. Though, anyone who’s a real Holmes fan knows Conan Doyle didn’t write that he wore that kind of hat. It’s all Hollywood, man. I thought about a bowler, but Churchill is a tough act to follow and Pooch said it would make my cheeks look fat. Now, a fez would be a top pick of mine, but Clay said it wouldn’t be conspicuous enough. When I was kid, I used to have this creepy toy monkey that wore a fez, like the kind in horror movies with cymbals you wind up and they bang-bang-bang them together. I think that’s when we lived in Hong Kong. The Bitch was estranged from The Asshole then and she was working a con on some industrialist. The Asshole killed that guy when he tracked her down. It was a shame, really. I remember getting blood all over my favourite Batman shirt and I liked the guy… I think his name was Hang. Hey, how about a trucker cap? It’s like a baseball cap, but different enough I’d be changing it up.”

Cougar made sure to keep his posture remained relaxed. It was a skill he had perfected long ago. If he listened long enough, he knew that in those long seemingly random rants of Jensen’s were buried nuggets to piecing together the mystery that was Jake Jensen. Cougar used the excuse of shifting in his chair to cover the movement of brushing his thumb over Jensen’s pulse point again. Cougar still remembered the scrawny little kid with broken glasses in juvie. Back then his first name had been Jensen, though. Hell, back then Cougar hadn’t been named Cougar. Jensen would forever be smug that he’d been the one to give Carlos the name of Cougar.

They’d met in juvie when the guards had all but tossed the blonde kid with a black eye into the rec yard. According the rules Jensen was old enough to be housed in the facility, but in reality he looked like he was eleven years old with his broken glasses and t-shirt emblazoned with Marvin the Martian. Others were sizing him up and all of them dismissed him as a non-threat. Cougar vividly remembered Jensen chattering away to the guards and acting the fool. They’d didn’t notice the shiv Jensen had slipped into his tube sock or him sizing up all of the other inmates. Jensen was underestimated and he knew it, planning to fly under the radar. Most interesting of all had been how Jensen zeroed in on Cougar. He’d kept tabs on Jensen without looking like he was watching. Anyone else would have missed it, but then Jensen cocked his head to the side, his crooked glasses sliding down his nose. He stared back at Cougar and quirked the corner of his mouth into a smirk.

The other boys were all bravado and posturing, with their car thieving, shop lifting, and baby gang banging ways, but this kid was something else. A wolf cub wearing lamb’s skin spotting the other real predator in the room. There might have been a three second window for Cougar to flee or kill him. He hadn’t run from anything in his life so he wasn’t going to run from a psychotic kid and Cougar didn’t kill kids on principle. Jensen ambled over to Cougar with a loose gait, his too long limbs seemingly awkward. He grabbed a plastic chair, turning it backwards and sat on it with his chin resting on the back. His first words to Cougar had been, “Hi! I promise not to kill you in your sleep. How do you get your hands on chocolate around here?”

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. They were all each other really had from that day on.

“You’re thinking about juvie, aren’t you? I can always tell, ya know. Those seven months were the best time I spent in the system. You’re the only reason I didn’t end up on the wrong side of the law… well, that and Jodi and Pita, but that’s obvious. You’re the first person I met who understood and had any form of reasonable ethics. You made me accept who I was and understand I could be what I was without being a bad guy. You were so my real life Super Hero.” Jensen sighed and the side of his mouth quirked up. “I had such a crush on your badass self you from day one.”

Cougar huffed under his breath.

“I know, I know. Trust me, I know. It wasn’t mutual back then. I was a kid and you were aging out of juvie and playing my big brother. I know you know and knew then that you were my first friend. You just didn’t know from that first day that I decided you were going to be mine when I grew up.”

Cougar tips his hat down and bumped his knee against Jensen’s knee.

“You’re sweet, you know that? Frustrating as hell, but sweet. After you fucked off and joined the army, I thought I’d never see you again. Then the postcards showed up. I had to break one goon’s knee when he tried to take your first one from me. I still have ‘em.”

Seven months in juvie together and then Cougar’s sentence had ended. He’d signed up for the army in what his parole officer called ‘his last chance’. Cougar had almost changed his mind when Jensen cried. Real tears, not the fake con-artist ones that manipulated the guards. He remembered the way Jensen had begged him slightly with those wide eyes which accused him of abandoning Jensen like everyone else. Cougar had hugged him and ruffled his hair, gruffly telling him, ‘You can’t follow where I’m going’. Jensen pushed, like Cougar knew he would and asked, ‘Why?’ He’d never lied to the kid. ‘You’re too small and I don’t want you to follow.’

Cougar had kept track of Jensen from afar. A few well placed threats and briberies kept him safe even though the kid could take care of himself. He sent postcards with no messages, but a happy face always drawn, addressed, and handled by locals in exchange for an American twenty dollar bill. Jensen still had a collection from all over the world as Cougar made his way through basic training to being flagged as a perfect candidate for sniper training. They kept the tradition alive and sent the happy face postcards to Tallulah now. Cougar even made sure they were sent after he was scooped up for special ops. In turn, Jensen had set-up a ghost, secure email and sent daily rambling emails. Whenever Cougar got the opportunity to log-in, he would read them all over at least three times. His responses were minimalist and short, but Jensen didn’t seem to care. It kept them connected over the years and across the miles. Cougar was sure he wouldn’t live to see twenty-five years old.

“I still remember your face when I showed up. Christ,” Jensen actually cackled in delight. “You had no idea. You were expecting some cherry FNG and you got me. I’ll never forget what you said.” Jensen poked Cougar in the shoulder with his index finger. “Your mouth was hanging open a little bit and you looked at me and said, ‘You grew up’. It was epic. Damn, I was taller and more built than you, but I knew you could only remember the scrawny little kid you left behind. It took me months for you to look at me like a man.”

Cougar lifted his hand and tilted the brim of his hat farther down over his face.

“Oh, don’t get like that. I know I had all of the subtlety of a lead pipe to the face. I wanted you and I was all grown up and determined to have you. It wasn’t my best moment, but you were such a stubborn hijo de puta.”

Cougar’s lips twitched into a half smile. Jensen had been pretty damn cute back then – an eighteen year old sporting frosted tipped hair and pursuing Cougar with an fanatical fascination. Cougar tried to put him off by womanizing, but it had no effect. In retaliation, Jensen started to pursue women, racheting up his goofy charm. Cougar’s feral jealousy would have none-of-that and they shared their first kiss in a bar in Bavaria which led to Jensen loosing his virginity during Oktoberfest behind a beer tent. Even now, Jensen always leered at Cougar went the hacker munched on bratwurst. After that they both still flirted with women, but it never went any place beyond a kiss or grope unless it was part of the mission. It was understood that what happened during a mission was what had to be done. Cougar found it cute that Jensen intentionally hammed it up and acted the fool, scaring off women and giving him an excuse as to why his bed was empty when they were around the other men on the team.

It was a game of cockblocking between them, but there was never any real jealousy. With time and confidence in their shared messed up, and mutually obsessive (some might say co-dependent) relationship, they came to realize that the only thing that could come between them was a bullet. It went beyond tight to the realms of what Jensen colourfully proclaimed, “They were tighter than a Nun’s…” Cougar had punched him before he could finish, as any good Catholic boy would. They stayed together because Brass realized they were scary and unstable alone, but at least scary and productive together. Cougar lost count of how many teams they rotated through until Clay took a shine to them.

“But, I got my man,” Jensen crowed, bringing Cougar out of his reminiscing. Jensen ran a hand over his abs, rubbing his fingertips over a mark that peeked out from under his waistband. Cougar loved to leave love bites all over Jensen’s body and his lean hips was a favourite place.

“Daddy! Look at me!”

Jensen looked up to see the little girl hanging upside down from a tree branch. Hearing Tallulah call Jensen Daddy had taken getting used to and raised a whole stink of questions. Once he knew what was what, they never talked about it. They never talked about the fact that the man who had raised both Jensen and his sister (forever called The Asshole) wasn’t their biological father. They never brought up that their mother (usually called The Bitch) had only gotten pregnant as part of a con and rubbed it in her long time psychotic boyfriend’s face that he wasn’t man enough to father children. From what Cougar knew it was a hate-hate-on-off-again relationship that made both of them miserable and had been responsible for ending more than one bystander’s life. The Bitch only kept her kids around because they were cute and could be used in cons as she hopped from country to country. As a result, Jensen learned to speak a dizzying array of languages with the skill and accent of a local. A year never went by where he didn’t live under at least five different identities, coached by The Bitch in how to create a new personality and convincing identity on the spot.

They certainly didn’t discuss that The Asshole molested Jensen’s sister, Jodi, and got her pregnant while Jensen was locked up. On the other hand, Jensen would gladly talk about and brag how he killed The Asshole. Jodi wanted to keep the baby and Jensen promised no one would ever hurt her again. Jensen would do anything for his sister and her daughter. He was the only father-figure Tallulah had ever known and when she started to call him Daddy, Jensen could only bite his lip and hug her. Jensen bought them a rambling old house in a safe suburb, with what he called ‘lots of character and even a freakin’ white picket fence’. He paid for Jodi to get her engineering degree and now she had some sort of consulting business Cougar didn’t quite understand that allowed her to work from home.

Apparently Tallulah inherited Jensen’s freaky climbing abilities because she was swinging from the branch like an orangutan. Her blonde hair was done up in uneven pigtails and she was sticking her tongue out through the gap where her front tooth fell out. “Papi! Papi, are you watching, too?”

That had taken more getting used to. Tallulah quickly picked up on the fact that Jensen and Cougar had a ‘thing’. With the innocence of youth, she didn’t judge them and they assumed she learned the Spanish word for daddy from one of those puppet shows she watched. Jodi sure as hell didn’t mind. She had accepted Cougar from the first time Jensen introduced them. Cougar still remembered a strangely silent exchange the sibling had on the porch. A silent Jensen was a dangerous Jensen. Two silent, plotting Jensens were extremely dangerous. Once he crossed the threshold, it was first time he felt like he was at home and he had a feeling they weren’t letting him go, even if he’d wanted to.

“We’re watching,” Jensen yelled and waved his hand at the tree. “Just be careful!”

Tallulah rolled her eyes and huffed. “I’m a monkey!”

Cougar watched the fast paced exchange with amusement.

“You certainly are.”

“I’m a space monkey!”

“Where’s your space helmet?”

“It’s invisible!”

“How can an invisible space monkey helmet work if you can’t see?”

“It works because I invented it! I can make anything. Hey, I fixed the toaster.”

The toaster in question had been taken apart, reassembled, and painted pink. It now toasted bread, but only in the shape of a heart. It was only one of a house filled with Rube Goldberg machines which were overly engineered and complex contraptions designed to do simple tasks. Cougar had nearly lost a hand in the bathroom to the machine designed to change the toilet paper roll. He didn’t understand it at all, but it made them happy to design the crazy shit. Nearly every day Jensen, Jodi, and Tallulah would be leaning over the dining room table that served as a work table making something unbelievable.

“I liked the heart,” Jensen told her. “Nice touch, but you’ve gotta adjust the burners ‘cos mine was a little charcoaled this morning.”

Instead of bursting into tears like some other kids might at constructive criticism, she nodded solemnly and flipped back into a seating position on the branch. “Do you think mom’ll let me at the blow torches?”

Cougar’s hand shot out and gripped Jensen’s wrist.

“Papi doesn’t think that’s a good idea. His hat still has scorch marks from the last time.”

“That’s not fair!” she whined. “That was you.”

Cougar clutched his hat in warning.

Jensen snorted and rubbed his left eyebrow that had finally grown back after the unfortunate duct tape/blow torch incident in Brazil. “No blow torches for anyone. But, if you want anything welded, remember Papi volunteered to do it for you.”

Cougar sighed heavily, imagining that they would dream up something for him to weld tonight. At least it channelled all of their creative energies. Tallulah was home schooled as she’d lasted exactly three days at school. Apparently, she was the only kindergartner in the state to get herself expelled and Jensen had to pay the school division over $10,000 to repair the school toilets and sewer lines after Tallulah’s stunt. When they were off duty, they came here and Jodi put them to work keeping her daughter occupied. They had their own sprawling suite which wonky ceilings and huge bed in the renovated attic. Cougar never thought the day would come when he would become a de facto teacher, but Tallulah was already fluent in Spanish and he was secretly proud she spoke with his regional accent. He also taught her all about wind velocity and geometry. The only thing they all agreed about was that she wouldn’t be allowed to go into the family business.

“Papi, puede tener una cookie?”

“Na huh,” Jensen chided. “Don’t you go and try to wheedle a cookie outta of him before supper. Your Mom’ll skin us all alive if you get hyped on sugar.”

Of course Cougar knew he was a goner for those blue eyes and he was already intent on slipping her a polvorone cookie when he could. His heart felt like it skipped a beat when she launched herself off the branch with a squeal. Cougar had already bounded out of his chair to rescue her. She tucked and rolled, popping back onto her feet with loud, happy shriek.

She flew her arms wide and wiggled her fingers. “Ta da!”

Cougar was breathing hard, staring at her when she launched herself at him.

She flailed her arms into the air and screamed, “Attack!”

Jensen responded to the call and leapt from his chair. In a coordinated effort, Tallulah tackled his knees and Jensen grabbed his mid-section. Cougar fell to the ground with a thud, aided by his arm intentionally thumping the soft grass.

“Make him laugh!” Tallulah pleaded and tickled his knees.

It was a form of torture Cougar had never been trained to resist. He was forced to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the temptation to make any noise, but that didn’t stop him from squirming from Jensen’s nimble fingers prodding along his ribs. Tallulah was quick and the next thing Cougar knew, she snatched his hat and placed it firmly on her head. It slipped down over her eyes and she had to push it back up with an irritated huff. Jensen was sitting on Cougar’s chest, pinning him to the ground. He leaned down to steal a kiss and bite Cougar’s bottom lip. Jensen was forever pushing him to show small tokens affection in front of her because he’d read all the child psychology books and they said it was healthy.

“Eww!” Tallulah pronounced her disgust and wrinkled her nose.

Jensen rested his forehead against Cougar’s own, chuckling softly. His hand came down to cup Cougar’s cheek, his thumb rubbing over Cougar’s lip. “Thanks for indulging her and me. You can get me back later.”

“You’ll both be the death of me,” Cougar grumbled low and gruff, but he pulled Jensen down for a deeper kiss.

Tallulah tossed Cougar’s hat at them and went off to chase the sprinkler.

Cougar was reminded of exactly how evil Jensen was when he grabbed the hat, perched it on his own head and whispered, “I’m not wearing anything under the shorts…”

END.


End file.
